“Fee-yo, fee-yah, mumabak, mumakhan—
Uf, duf, tref, dza! Brekogal hu soupapan.”
“The last bit is counting and about supper at the end of the day. That’s all I understood,” Wistala said.
“Thank you, Queen-Consort.”
The Copper tasted the air about her. No, she wasn’t much like Jizara after all. But she intrigued him, anyway. Imagine singing a simple blighter work song in the Tyr’s court.
“So are you being courted?” he asked.
She dipped her head in embarrassment. “No, Tyr. I don’t mix much.”
“Joined the Firemaids?”
“No, Tyr.”
“Not even tried?”
“Never,” Istach said, growing bolder and learning to ignore the stares of the great dragons. “My sister joined, and is doing very well, I understand. You’ve recently promoted my brother AuSurath into the Aerial Host and my brother AuMoahk studies with the Ankelenes. I did not wish to see my parents left alone.”
“Surely you want to do something useful,” the Copper said.
Some of the court was exchanging looks. Well, he wanted to know about this young dragon, so he’d ask a few questions. They’d indulge their Tyr.
Istach flicked her tongue in thought. “Oh, I learned the language of the wolves on my home island, I keep the blighters from stealing our sheep, and once I pulled some storm-wrecked fishermen to shore and brought a boat to pick them up. I’m useful to my father’s island.”
She spoke heartfully. Another dragonelle might simper and flatter in the presence of so many young males of the Aerial Host. In any case, those who spoke to him almost always wanted a favor from the Tyr. The Copper wasn’t used to such an open manner. Most dragons of his Empire either wanted his judgment and decree in their favor, advancement for themselves, or mercy for some crime. A very stupid dragonelle might not realize all the power he represented, but he didn’t think her cloud-brained. But why feign such nonchalance? No, she must be hiding some other agenda.
“I’m sure my brother AuRon is proud of you.”
“I would still guard his throat were he not,” she said.
“Such loyalty to her sire and dam at her age, newly fledged,” HeBellereth said. “Entirely admirable.”
“You interest me, Istach. I hope, now that your message is delivered, that you will stay and join the festivities.”
“Festivities!” one of the more robust dragon-dames said. “Is there to be a feast?”
“We shall celebrate the latest proof of the strength of our Alliance. Let word go out that twenty-one days hence, there will be a feast to celebrate. Let them feast in the Lavadome, let them feast in the Uphold of Swayport on the western shores, let them feast in Ghioz. Of course, the Tyr’s court and select members of the Aerial Host shall enjoy the finest feast of all.”
“Where is this feast to be?” NoSohoth asked.
“Dairuss, of course,” the Copper said. “I must congratulate my brother on his triumph. Istach, would you be kind enough to act as the Tyr’s messenger, and tell your parents that we are coming to celebrate his new position?”
“Yes, Tyr,” Istach said. NoSohoth stamped at her not using the more proper “my Tyr” but it did a little good to have the old goldeater get some exercise being aggravated.
“A feast,” AuRon asked. “Here?”
“That is what they said. They shall be here in nineteen days. I flew hard, Father, to bring you the news. To tell the truth I’m famished.”
AuRon and Natasatch had taken possession of an old Ghioz mine in the Red Mountains above the City of the Golden Dome. Naf had worked out a signal with the mirror or a firework if he was needed, day or night. So far, he’d not called on his dragon Protector, but he had sent gifts in the form of herds of sheep and goats and a few blighter herdsmen. They were cattle thieves captured in the borderlands and pardoned to serve the dragons. AuRon didn’t think much of them, but Natasatch was training them with a will, eager to start having her own servants to attend them.
“It would help if we knew what a feast entailed,” Natasatch said, dryly.
AuRon had been around the Lavadome dragons enough to at least know what a feast entailed. “Oh, roast cattle, pork, mutton, fish and fowl, if any are about for the welcoming mouthful and aftersnacks. If there’s any gold or silver about it would be considered polite to at least offer the guests a taste.”
“We don’t have anything like that to give our guests. Just Naf’s sheep and goats, and it doesn’t sound like the whole herd would feed them all. How many guests will there be, Istach?”
“Guests imply I invited them,” AuRon said. “I didn’t.”
Natasatch sighed. “The Tyr will go where he will in the lands of his Alliance. I just wish he hadn’t decided to come so soon. We’ve hardly settled in.”
“He said something about bringing the Aerial Host,” Istach added.
“Aerial Host. More like Aerial Appetites. Dairuss isn’t a rich land. If half the Lavadome descends on me, they’ll eat these hills dry.”
“Perhaps if you serve him a poor meal, they won’t visit again,” Istach said.
Natasatch glared at her.
“Perhaps Naf could be convinced to offer a bounty on scrawny old crows. I’d like to set a platter of beaks and feathers in front of my brother. The arrogance.”
“Your son will be with them, I expect. We wouldn’t want to shame AuSurath among his new comrades in the Host.”
“It is an honor to host the Tyr,” Istach said. “You should make an effort.”
“Is that why you keep our daughter around?” AuRon asked. “To gang up on me like a wolf pack?”
“Very well. Istach, do you have any strength left in your wings?” Natasatch asked.
“A little mutton would help.”
“After you’ve eaten, fly down to Ghioz and tell Imfamnia that we must entertain the Tyr. She’s experienced with this sort of thing. I’d like to hear her advice.”
“When did you meet Imfamnia?” AuRon asked.
“She flew by when you were out on one of your surveying the countryside flights with our good king. Her mate wasn’t feeling well and she needed to get out. It was just a social call. She offered her advice in our role as Protector.”
AuRon didn’t know why that troubled him, but it did. “You could have told me.”
She clacked her griff in reply.
“Well, if we’re going to ask for advice, let’s at least fly down to her rather than bring her here. I don’t like her poking around Dairuss.”
AuRon recognized the Ghioz Protector’s resort. NiVom and Istach had settled in to the old carving on the mountainside. The face had scaffolding over it and works were being carried out on an enormous scale.
“A feast?” Imfamnia said, upon their arrival the next day. “Why didn’t you say so as soon as you landed?”
She shared a quick prrum with Natasatch, who said: “I’m still getting used to all the traditions between Protectors. Istach said something about asking permission to land, making sure I didn’t alight above you…”
“Oh—we’re equals and friends, Dearflame. Don’t trouble yourself about protocol. We’re neighbors. What’s more, we’re few dragons in a land of many men. We must learn to rely on each other.”
Imfamnia guided them inside. Some of the doors and passageways had been enlarged to accommodate dragons. The floors shone brighter than they had even under the Red Queen.
“Mind your claws, please,” Imfamnia said.
“I’m to host an Imperial Feast,” AuRon said. “The Tyr is coming, along with some of the court and members of the Aerial Host.”
Imfamnia’s scale raised and resettled as she thought. “An Imperial Feast, no less. I’m only too happy to be of service to my neighbor. I must call my mate. NiVom!” She sent a human servant scurrying with a nip, his head tucked in between his shoulders like a turtle.
“I’m worried about having enough for them to eat,” Natasatch said. “Dairu
ss isn’t crawling with cattle. From what I understand lambing season is coming up and the herds can’t be disturbed.”
“When is it to be?”
“Sixteen days’ time.”
“Oh, food’s no trouble at all, then,” Imfamnia said. “We’ll load a few barges with cattle, and we’ll have them at the door of your King Naf’s dome in three days’ time, with a day to spare in case of mischance. Just don’t hold it up in the mountains, or anything. Somewhere easy to drive cattle from the riverbank.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Natasatch said.
“What do you want in return?” AuRon asked.
Imfamnia waved a sii in the air. “Oh, call it a gift, in honor of your new rank as Protector of a key province.”
“You’re very kind,” Natasatch said.
“Will you be serving gold coin or silver to welcome your guests?”
“Coin?” AuRon asked.
“You grays are always forgetting coin. Yes, coin puts everyone in a pleasantly satisfied mood.”
“There’s precious little coin in Dairuss. It’s a poor province.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can urge your thralls—”
“Slaves, you mean,” AuRon said. “We don’t keep slaves, whatever you call them.”
AuRon, don’t start a quarrel with someone who is trying to be kind to us, Natasatch thought to him.
“Well, if it’s simply a bit of coin holding you back, I’d be happy to loan you some,” Imfamnia said.
“I’m grateful for your help with the food, but I must not accept coin,” AuRon said.
AuRon! Natasatch thought.
She led them into a balcony room AuRon remembered from his previous visits. The blood and flame had long since been washed away, as had the Red Queen’s taste in two-color decor. The Protectors of Ghioz preferred white and gold, accented with a little blue of various shades here and there.
“What’s keeping my mate? Dearflames, I must insist on supplying you with some coin. The Red Queen had centuries’ worth of coin tucked away. We’re always sniffing out new troves. You know the Ghioz of old buried their parents with it.”
“They don’t object to their ancestors being dug up?” AuRon asked.
“Ghioz? The only thing they regret is that they didn’t find the grave first. Even for humans they’re unusually bad.”
“If there’s to be an Imperial Feast I must get my scale into shape.” She rapped her tail against a gong and humans began to flow in from crevices like water into a leaky boat, lugging wooden boxes full of tools.
Her scale looked perfect to AuRon, but then dragonelles had a better eye for that sort of thing.
“There’s just one, tiny problem, AuRon. The Tyr—well, he’s banned me from his court. We had rather a misunderstanding about something that wasn’t my fault at all; it was my foolish first mate and his friend the Dragonblade. They somehow blame me for letting the dragonriders into the Lavadome.”
“I’ve heard a little about it. Your first mate was Tyr SiMevolant then, I believe.”
“Yes, and he was cruel and stupid. But he thought the Dragonblade was just what we needed to survive in a world of men. Have you seen his blade? I was shaking so hard my scale half-dropped out for fear. Yet Tyr RuGaard seems to believe I had something to do with those men taking over the Lavadome.”
AuRon rather doubted she had been that terrified. Though she did have a reputation for running from a fight. But enough of the past. “If I’m to be hosting this feast, I’ll say who’s to be invited and who’s not. You and your mate will be my guests. It’s the least I can do for your help with the victuals. But I’ll have to refuse your offer of coin. The food is generosity enough.”
“I won’t press you. I knew from the moment I saw you we would be firm allies. Ghioz and Dairuss. With your hardy warriors and our rich lands, we’ll have nothing to fear on our borders! I can’t think of what’s keeping my mate, he must be ill again.”
It wasn’t much of a feeding pit. The early-winter rains made it look even more dismal.
He settled on Great Neck in Dairuss as the location of the celebratory feast, and decided to hold it during the afternoon so the dragons would have light to find places to sleep after.
He’d chosen the location for the feast for a number of reasons. First, he didn’t want dozens of dragons flying over Dairuss’ Golden Dome and unsettling Naf’s people. Too many of them were refugees or children of refugees from dragon attacks during the Wizard’s old race wars, and panicked, stampeding hominids would scurry about starting fires and looting each others homes or spirits knew what else in the chaos.
Great Neck also had the advantage of being easily spotted from the air; it was a distinctively shaped loop of the Falngese river, reminiscent of a swan’s curving neck. It was close to Ghioz and had a good landing, and the ridge of the neck gave a commanding view. For ages there’d been sentries posted there to watch the river and lands eastward. It was also the old tribute dock for southern Dairuss when it was part of the Ghioz Empire, so there was ample riverfront for NiVom and Imfamnia’s barges of fattened cattle. There’d always been enough commerce and activity, never mind travelers hiking up the ridge for the view that a small town offered to plenty of workers who could be hired to assist with the feast.
Better yet, the locals looked like much of Dairuss: poor, simple country folk in patched-together clothing that looked not all that different from the local sheep. Dragons who otherwise wouldn’t listen when AuRon described Naf’s kingdom as rustic hill country would accept the evidence laid before their eyes and noses.
He’d overlooked how dragons expect to dine formally—circled around a low feeding area like all the animals of the savannah drinking from the sole remaining waterhole. Servants would rotate with platters, always beginning with the most favored guest—who would naturally be the Tyr—and moving down the social scale. Wistala told him that once upon a time a duel could be fought over being seated last, so a good host usually placed his mate and himself at the final two positions.
They ended up laying down felled trees for the dragons to rest upon, so they wouldn’t end up squatting in the mud and flying away with caked scales. Naf’s lumbermen worked hard, chaining horses to the big boles and dragging the trunks into line.
Imfamnia and NiVom were kind enough to arrive early, with a few dozen thrall cooks used to prepare dragon cuisine. AuRon thought NiVom looked haggard; perhaps he had been sick of late, though he flew well enough. A big meal would do him some good.
At last the big evening arrived.
His brother did not arrive with as many dragons as AuRon had feared. Wistala arrived with the Copper, a more mismatched pair would be hard to imagine, with Wistala big and broad-winged and her brother thin and limping without scale clean and sparingly polished and hardly a laudi on his wings. There were only a few representatives of his court and their mates, some curious Ankelenes exhausted from flying, and a smattering of the Aerial Host, including their commander HeBellereth.
Istach helped him with the introductions. She had a remarkable memory for names and kept close to prompt him as he greeted and announced his guests.
When Imfamnia and NiVom made their appearance, coming up from their barges on the riverbank, arriving late, once the feast had been well joined, all the assembled dragons hushed.
“What is she doing here,” the Copper said.
“Perhaps some oliban,” Wistala suggested.
“What is oliban?” Natasatch asked.
A few of the assembly tittered.
“It’s a sort of sap from rare trees in the south,” an Ankelene named NoFarouk said. “When burned, it is most soothing.”
AuRon heard whispers. “No welcoming coin… no oliban…”
“Our new Protector isn’t very courtly,” HeBellereth said.
“If being courtly is what’s required of a Protector, perhaps you should get a new one,” AuRon said. “NiVom and Imfamnia are my guests. Dairuss isn’t the Lavadome, and whatev
er she did in the past she’s been a good friend to myself and my mate now.”
The Copper’s one good eye looked AuRon’s way. “This is my brother’s Protectorate. He sets his own social conventions. He may invite who he will. I think, however, it would be best if I depart. Please, good dragons, do not consider this an insult to our host or our new allies. But I must choose my society.”
The Tyr moved off to contemplate the river.
Just like my brother. Skulking off, AuRon thought to Natasatch.
We mustn’t make an enemy of the Tyr, she thought back. Then aloud: “I’ll see to it that some food is brought to him.” Natasatch quit the feeding pit and did her best to order some servants to follow with platters.
With that, HeBellereth rose, and the members of the Aerial Host followed his example.
Wistala came to her feet, said, “I shall return,” and trotted off after him.
The feast had turned into a disaster.
“I’m sorry we caused such a rift in your celebratory feast,” NiVom said.
Imfamnia laughed. “Well, I never. What, he thought I might attack him? Our Tyr, who has smashed our enemies aboveground and below, retreats at the sight of one ragged exile? And a female at that?”
Ragged? Natasatch thought to AuRon. She’s dye-washed her scales to add contrast. Her servants have labored many hours with brushes to get that pattern.
The rest of the dragons shifted about nervously.
“Protector AuRon,” NiVom announced. “I’ve brought a specialty of my kitchens. In these waxed baskets—a dessert fit for the Tyr, even if he’ll have none. Brains in sweet brandy!”
She extended her wings and rotated them down, a sort of a bow crossed with a flourish, to AuRon’s mind, beautifully executed.
Part of him couldn’t help comparing Natasatch to the former Queen of the Lavadome. Everything NiVom’s mate did, she did gracefully.
Wistala settled down next to her Copper brother.
[Age of Fire 05] - Dragon Rule Page 9
